I do like to be beside the seaside: finding the antidote for homesickness

It was raining when the tram pulled into Fitzroy Street. My arms ached from lugging my suitcase around – first to an art gallery, then for half an hour of delirious wandering while I searched for the tram to take me out of the city. I kept thinking about my plants; was my laceleaf finally sprouting a new flower? Was my prayer plant getting enough sunlight?

I didn’t think I’d get homesick in St Kilda. It’s only an hour away from Geelong, I thought. I’ve travelled further. Just not by myself.

While I waited for the rain to stop, I opened and closed all the cupboards in my Airbnb. I did the same with the drawers. I started on the cupboards again.

‘Maybe I’m not built for holidays,’ I later told my friends. ‘I didn’t consider that I’d be stuck in my head without the tools I need to distract myself. Having to deal with all that in an unfamiliar place is really difficult.’

When the rain cleared, I knew I couldn’t spend the rest of the day inside. The antidote to homesickness is to make the place you’re in feel more familiar. I was just going to have to go out there and familiarise myself with it. But I needed to start somewhere quiet, to get my confidence up.

The No. 96 tram takes you to Acland Street. It has the same charm as Little Malop Street back home, but on a larger scale; cafés sit beside eclectic shops selling everything from second-hand clothing to old books, with some heritage cake shops squeezed in for good measure. The Botanical Gardens is only a short walk away. When I arrived, there were just the right amount of people there; not too many that it was crowded, but enough that it didn’t feel deserted. The perfect reading conditions. Between chapters, I went exploring. The lake is particularly lovely; in the middle of the water there’s a statue of a man, which also doubles as a fountain. The ‘rain’ drips off the edges of his umbrella, into his open palm. The ducks play around his feet.

I thought about the Botanical Gardens back home. The time I went picnicking with my friends under an enormous tree and drank too much vodka and orange juice. I should sit with my friends in beautiful gardens more often. Slow my mind with drink and music and our meandering talk.

When it was getting too dark to read, I made my way to the beach. I’ve grown up never being far away from the water – in fact, I only need to walk to the top of my street to see it. That wide strip of blue calms me. I like not knowing where it ends; dry land stops here, but the water could go on into eternity, as far as I know. A bit like outer space. I walked along for a while, up towards the pier. The sea breathed beside me.

At their hearts, both St Kilda and Geelong are seaside towns. St Kilda has a lot going for it; the pier hosts a colony of penguins and they have their very own Luna Park, plus a fancy theatre, the Palais, for good measure. But Geelong is prettier; we have a colourful promenade, a sea bath where the water is impossibly blue, and those white pillars topped with spherical lights that feel so reminiscent of the idyllic seaside town.

Passing St Kilda’s yacht club, I spotted two metal statues. Anchors – and so like the one back home, along Rippleside Beach! When I was small, I would try and climb it, or at least stand on the upturned edges of the anchor hooks, which were the perfect size for a small foot. Longing sat in my throat.

I called my parents.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. I’m standing on St Kilda Beach. It looks just like Geelong.’